My grandfather and I had a special relationship.
When I was young we lived near his home in Baltimore. But, my family moved away from
Baltimore when I was five and we lived most of my life in another state far away from my
grandfather. Whenever he called, however, I was the one grandchild he always wanted to
talk to so we could discuss his beloved Baltimore Orioles. I was the one grandchild who
followed sports closely and always remained a true Baltimore sports fan.
Later in life, I learned that my grandfather was actually a gifted baseball player himself when
he was young. In those days, he would explain, professional baseball players did not make
enough money to support a family so he had to make up his mind to either play baseball or
get married and raise a family. As it turned out, his love for baseball was only surpassed by
his love for my grandmother and, although he hung on to the newspaper clippings that
labeled him a “can’t miss professional baseball prospect”, he hung up his cleats and glove,
married my grandmother and went out to find a “real” job.
But his love for the game survived and year in and year out, he and I discussed the
intricacies of the game and enjoyed or lamented each baseball season based on the
successes and/or failures of the Baltimore Orioles. As crummy as the Baltimore bums are
today, I was fortunate enough to experience and share many more successful seasons than
poor ones during those limited years that I shared life with this amazing man.
I always felt sorry for my grandfather, considering him a victim of poor timing. Had he
been born about 50 years later in life, he would not have had to pick between being a
baseball player or earning a living – in fact, with his talent, he could have earned a much
better than average living while enjoying the one thing he loved most in life.
When my grandfather passed away, I was sure that he was joining a heavenly nine to once
again strap on his spikes and don the leather. Without a doubt, they must play baseball in
heaven. And I wait for the day that I sit in the heavenly bleachers and cheer on a young
grandfather playing this wonderful game with other boys of summer.
(Inspired by, “is there baseball in heaven”, by Constance, A Rambling Poet)

A young boy that loved the game
Would always practice and never rest
Because he always wished someday
To play with the very best
Dad and son played together
Bonding with games of catch
Both together for love of the game
Which no one else could match
Then one morning the man awoke
To go practice with his team
And when he arrived at the field
Its grass was an amazing green
It didn’t look in anyway close
To the way it was before
And his teammates were now all different
And there were so so many more
As he ran to take his position
His teammates caught his eye
They were all the baseball legends
That he was passing by
He thought how was it possible
That these greats were there to play
Because he knew that they were all
His heroes that passed away
He walked up to a player
Whom he knew to be Babe Ruth
To get an answer to what was happening
And he only wanted the truth
The great man thought the easiest way
For a young man who’d been playing since seven
Was to tell him that they were a player short
And he was needed in baseball heaven
The young man grinned with a child’s delight
And now knew he wanted to stay
Because God granted him more than his wish
He could now play with the best everyday

Do they play baseball in heaven.
Wonder if you know if they play baseball in heaven?
Think they have a baseball field in the clouds?
Does guys like Mickey mantle and Frank Robins on.
Does the great Babe Ruth hit home runs?
Are there teams like the Yankees or the braves up there.
I know God must have a team he likes.
I want to find out if they are the angels.
Do you think that I will be able to play with the cool ones?
I know they must have a hall of fame with guys like Joe and Stan